


Side By Side

by Herk



Series: Two Sides Of The Same Coin [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: They are opponents. That's no reason to be unreasonable in Crowley's not-so-humble opinion. Now to make the angel see the light (metaphorically speaking).Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship from the beginnings of the agreement onward.





	1. Black Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Unlike my usual modus operandi I' haven't finished writing this before I started posting. So updates will probably take longer.

England was damp.

There would by many more things he could say to describe his current predicament but Crowley felt that one sentence summed up the whole experience pretty well. It wouldn’t be too bad if he could find himself a nice luxurious castle with a cozy fire and just stay there. But the whole island was in the grip of goodwill and piety and all those other terribly boring virtues right now and downstairs had noticed.

If you asked Crowley it would all sort itself out if you left them to their own devices for a few years, but someone - probably Hastur that bastard - thought that tempting some of these extra virtuous souls would be a worthy cause.

In theory Crowley agreed that some of these stuck up knights could do with a good tempting but he would still very much prefer some fluffy bear skins on a huge bed to investigate that ‘sleep’ thing further. 

Armours were terribly uncomfortable.

Dueling those poor schmucks had proven to be quite effective. They virtuously stayed away from all the fun temptations but of course they turned up for fighting an evil Black Knight terrorizing the locals. Beating them wasn’t really a problem if you had demonic powers on your side and Crowley made his own fun by making his victories as humiliating as possible. He and the guys laughed at their expense and then  _ they let them go _ .

Killing them would have achieved no purpose, but humiliated and with envy in their souls they lived on to spread a bit of misery and some never found their way back to an untarnished life. Maybe he’ll be able to introduce some of them to some actual fun in a few years.

Now if the mist would just lift a bit. He hadn’t seen the sun in days.

When his knave announced the next twat in a white and shiny armour, Crowley sighed and put his helmet on. There was nothing but to go for it.

Only the twat in question turned out to be of the heavenly variety. He spilled out his usual stick anyway to see how long until the angel noticed.

“Crawley is that you under there?”

“It’s Crowley.” Really he thought after Rome the angel would have learned. He told his guys to back off. There was no need for the humiliation with this one.

And then he thought ‘to Heaven with it, I’ve got enough of this stupid gig’ and ‘if I don’t ask now, then it’s my own fault.” So he cautiously made the offer he’d been mulling over in his head for a few centuries now.

The angel’s eyes widened. He begun to stutter again in that flustered way of his. He should be annoyed by it - but he really wasn’t. Which in turn then annoyed him anyway. What kind of demon had patience with some stupid angel, really?

Aziraphale ultimately declined.

Of course he did.

He panicked and declined and then ran.

Crowley shrugged and acted unimpressed. But after closing his visor he couldn’t help but grin. Aziraphale hadn’t fought him although the offer should have made him more inclined to do so - if he were a proper angel. He had said ‘no’ but he had done so citing Michael and Gabriel and his fear of being caught, not his moral outrage. 

This wasn’t defeat.

This was the first small step on the road to victory.


	2. White Knight

Sir Aziraphale, Knight of the Rose, sat in his tent brooding. His knave had helped him out of his armour and the young man had given him ‘looks’.

Of course the lad was disappointed. His hero, a great knight, had shied away from a fight. He had to assume cowardice or worse.

And Heaven would probably agree

Aziraphale was afraid they might be right.

He had fled the battlefield because of cowardice - only maybe not quite they way they thought.

His knave was a good lad and the angel felt he owed him some explanation, make him recognise that maybe his trust and ideals weren’t as misplaced as he feared right now.

“George my dear man, I’m sure this must seem very strange to you.”

“It’s not for me to question, my lord.” He sullenly avoided to look at Aziraphale.

“Because questions are a sin.” The angel sighed. “But you don’t believe that George, do you?”

Now Geoge looked up and Aziraphale could see passion burning in those eyes bearing into his. “No, I don’t. How shall I become a knight if I don’t become learned and wise? How can I understand without questioning?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Now ask away, lad. The questions are burning on your soul and surely that can’t be good.”

“Why didn’t you fight the Black Knight?”

“I’ve known him of old.”

“You think he would have beat you?”

“Oh I know he wouldn’t. Good always triumphs in the end. I wasn’t afraid to lose. I think it might have been worse if I won actually.”

George was clearly confused “But he’s evil.”

Aziraphale fidgeted with his fingers, studying them for a moment. “Well, yes, you see that’s the point. I’m not entirely sure about that. I mean he’s certainly not good and holy but…” He looked at the lad. “I think not everyone is utterly good or evil beyond redemption I think most people - maybe all - are somewhere in between. And maybe…” and here he sounded far too hopeful even to his own ears. “... maybe that’s true for knights as well.”

*


	3. THE love triangle

After a while Aziraphale returned to Camelot. He had done some good even if it was just enough to counter Crowley’s evil wiles and he wanted to check in on Arthur and his court. They were lovely people for the most part and they held exquisite banquets and really he’d achieve far more good by encouraging and helping the humans to be the actual shining beacon of hope in this world.

Arriving at Camelot had to be the single most depressing thing that happened to him that century. 

Camelot was a centre for goodness and wisdom and justice. Arthur was not only a good king but also a good man. When he arrived Aziraphale immediately knew that something had gone terribly wrong. Everyone’s mood was subdued and there was nothing to see of the good will he’d encountered on his previous visits. 

Camelot had always felt loved. 

Now that feeling was gone.

When he learned what had happened, Aziraphale’s heart broke for those poor people. He tried talking to Arthur giving him back a bit of hope, something to keep him going, to help him heal. But even his miracles were useless. 

The king was a broken man.

The depressing thing was that he would still do his best to carry on. That he wouldn’t allow himself to give up on his vision. Although to him the dream was nothing more than a nightmare anymore, he would do his best to keep it alive for his people.

Aziraphale tried - and failed - to help and when he couldn’t stand to stay and watch any longer, he went and found himself a nice tavern to get thoroughly drunk. It wasn’t as good as Camelot’s wine cellars but he wouldn’t drink under the shadow of the king’s grief at least.

He was halfway through his first bottle when he heard a familiar voice.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Crowley? Oh - no, please do.”

The demon brought his own bottle and readily shared, pouring into both of their goblets.

“I see you learned about the epic clusterfuck that happened while we were off playing knights.”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way but yes, I did.” Aziraphale acknowledged. He downed his wine. “I guess this was none of your doing?” He poured for both of them from his bottle as Crowley had finished his wine as well.

“Nope, misery’s all of their own making.” Crowley smacked his lips after tasting the new wine. “Good choice. You really don’t believe in drowning your sorrows in the cheap stuff do you?”

“If I indulge myself, why should I settle for half measures?” 

They shared another glass in silence. Crowley could tell that the angel was actually upset. The softhearted romantic really felt for the humans.

“I told them right from the start, you know.”

“Them?” Aziraphale hadn’t known that Crowley had ever met the king.

“Down Below.” The demon whispered conspiratorially.

“Ah.”

“I told them: just leave the humans alone, they’ll find a way to fuck it up eventually. Mind you - I usually don’t tell them, I just let nature run its course and take credit later. But I really hate running around the fog and the rain in an armour. I thought I might convince them… fat chance of that of course. Hastur thinks arguments and facts are just like holy water on the scale of things a demon should never let themselves be touched by.” OK so maybe he was venting a bit but really, who else would he be able to talk to? Who else would understand?

“I just really don’t understand why though. They were such a lovely couple and Lancelot such a fine young man…”

And because Crowley was still a demon and could be cruel in the most petty ways, he didn’t mince his words. The angel had to face reality at one point.

“Because of your lot and their stupid rules of course. I mean listen to yourself, ‘lovely couple’. Arthur loved Gwynnifer but he also loved Lancelot. Lancelot would have died for his king and best friend. But he couldn’t  _ not  _ love the queen. And beautiful, lovely Gwyn? She loved them both so equally, she was unable to choose between them. But oh - noes! Someone decided one-husband-one-wife and everything else is adultery and BOOM you made love a sin. It’s a farce, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him, not angry - maybe a bit shocked - but mostly sad. It took the wind right out of his sails. He deflated a bit. “All I’m saying is, left to their own devices, without those expectations, they probably could have found a way to make it work. They could have been happy.”

Crowley approved of human misery as a concept. On a wide scale he even enjoyed spreading it. But that didn’t mean he was too fond of it on a personal level or in such big measures. A bit of misery might be entertaining, too much of it simply killed the fun.

Aziraphale smiled and it had to be among the saddest things he’d ever seen: the angel trying to be brave in the face of his own sadness.

“And that’s why it’s such a tragedy.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair the problem historically speaking seems to be more than one man for one woman, the other way around it somehow always works out. But I doubt Crowley sees this as a systematic problem of the patriarchy ;)


	4. Myra part 1

Although he declined Crowley’s initial proposal, Aziraphale never got back to doing the Lord’s work during Arthur’s lifetime. But neither did Crowley return to his job and in the end it all worked out exactly like the demon predicted.

Aziraphale tried not to think too much about it because when he did, his conscience inevitably reminded him that this was exactly how tempting worked.

When they ran into each other a couple of decades later in Asia minor neither mentioned King Arthur’s court. They met by pure chance on the road to Myra and travelled together for a few days. The nights at the various inns were far more entertaining if you shared them with someone who didn’t need any sleep either.

They shared food and wine and stories, careful not to touch on the job.

They always started arguing when it came to the job and neither of them wanted that.

It was a pretty enjoyable week all in all and they amicably parted ways at the city walls.

Aziraphale had some minor miracles and a visitation to perform and the Almighty knew what Crowley was up to. He found himself a lovely little inn close to his targets and even closer to the local version of a library and settled in.

The first of his assigned miracles worked without a hitch. A young boy saved from a runaway horse that would have trampled him to death otherwise. The child would go on to become a pious priest following the example of Bishop Nicholas and doing much good in the world. Aziraphale smiled just thinking about it.

On his way back to the inn he even managed to take care of his second task, a miraculous multiplying of the wares of a faithful merchant. Apparently this should help spread the faith but he personally felt it smelled of bribery. 

Well with two miracles out of the way he would have all the time studying the scrolls and books in the library once he got the visitation done.

Aziraphale decided to finish his good deeds all in one day. He wasn’t usually this overly eager but his heart ached for the books. So although the sun was already setting, he took on the rather long-ish walk over to the other side of town.

*

Crowley really only had one job in Myra, one that could easily be taken care of once he found a certain individual. Not even a proper miracle just a tiny nudge in the wrong direction, little more than a tempting to get some guy to become even more of a bastard than he already was.

He really couldn’t see why this one guy was worth all this inconvenience but at least Myra had an agreeable climate. Maybe he needed to polish his reports more, get a tad more creative with the achievements he listed, so Downstairs didn’t get the idea that he wasn’t doing enough or growing bored. A little creativity could go a long way and after a recent commendation he usually had a century or two of peace from meddling.

Crowley booked a room in the best inn he could find. It was a longer way to the part of town where he expected to find Sittas but he had some standards.

The bed in his room was luxurious and Crowley considered to sleep for a couple of days before searching for his human target. He had taken on the habit and found it quite enjoyable and after a week’s journey without getting some shut eye, chatting the nights away with the angel, he felt like some rest would be more than welcome.

Then he remembered Ligur’s nagging and impatience and decided to first take care of Sittas before maybe sleeping for a fortnight. No one wanted to be woken by Ligur’s nagging.

Nevertheless, he enjoyed a copious meal and two carafes of fine wine before going on his search. Hell should never think that they were the boss of him. (Well, they were but that's beside the point.)

Crowley lazily wandered the streets of Myra making small talk with some local street vendors, taking in the scenery, until he finally found Sittas in a rundown tavern in the worst part of town.

The guy was already deep into his glasses and reeked of aggressive desperation. Crowley really didn’t see the point of pushing the sod over the edge when he would stumble and fall all by himself in a few years time anyway. Sending a silent curse in Ligur’s general direction, he extended his powers anyway, giving that one push.

Sittas' face changed subtly. When he ordered his next glass, the barkeeper demanded payment beforehand and he obviously couldn’t pay. What followed was a loud argument that resulted in a fistfight and Sittas being thrown out. 

A completely ordinary scene that happened dozens of times each day around the world without demonic intervention. Crowley had done his job and could simply go home. Or at least to his temporary residence and enjoy the luxurious bedding.

But Crowley had a terrible character flaw. He was curious. So instead of going to his well earned rest, he followed Sittas through the dark side alleys to find out what the man would do after his little nudge. This was only to ensure that his job was well done and maybe out of morbid curiosity. It might prove terribly entertaining to watch whatever the guy would get up to tonight.

*


	5. Myra part 2

Aziraphale was walking through the dark and narrow alleys close to the city walls. He was close to his last target he was sure of it. The man in need of a heavenly visitation was a tanner and his nose told the angel he wouldn’t have to walk far.

It really stank abysmally.

Well tanning was a good and honest job and he shouldn’t judge really. Honestly he wasn’t judging. He was sure the tanner was a perfectly lovely man. But still… Upstairs had no bodies and therefore often forgot of the physical limitations that came with one.

Aziraphale concentrated on the library and all the books in his immediate future and braved the odours of these quarters with his shoulders squared.

“Stop!”

The angel blinked. “Excuse me?” A common ruffian with a crude blade had called out to him.

“You owe me some money.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry but I think you must have me mistaken for somebody else. I can assure you…”

“Shut UP!”

Aziraphale’s mouth shut close in shock. People didn’t _shout_ at him.

“You will give me all your money and you will give it to me now.” The man was waving around his blade in a way that probably could be considered menacingly. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure. The man was poor and desperate and his own fear radiated off of him in a way that the angel found to be terribly distracting.

“I will do no such thing.” He declared quite reasonably. His earthly funds were limited after all. Before he could explain though the mugger lunged at him with his knife.

The only thing that saved Aziraphale from a painful discorporation then and there was a heavy boot flying through the dark, hitting the man right on the back of his head knocking him out.

“What?” He looked around only to see Crowley limping out of the dark on one bare foot, wearing a boot on his other.

“I need that back - evidence.” He stated as he reclaimed his footwear.

“Crowley? What are you doing…”

“Shush! Will you stop announcing my name for all the world to hear? Let’s get out of here before Sittas comes to his senses.”

“Sittas? You _know_ that man?” Aziraphale was appalled.

Crowley leaned close in, hissing his next words. “I’m out of here, angel. Eithhher come or ssstay but for Hell’sss sssake shut up!”

*

Aziraphale followed Crowley through a labyrinth of narrow alleys across half the city before they settled in a small tavern that was still open despite the hour. The demon had quietly mumbled curses to himself the whole way and now ordered a large bottle of strong wine as soon as they settled down. The angel took a moment to catch his breath. His saviour obviously kept his body in far better shape.

“I guess I should tha- “

“Don’t!” Crowley snapped.

It almost seemed as if he regretted having him here. “I’m sorry.” He had no idea whatsoever for but the demon was clearly upset.

Crowley took the bottle and drank right from it. “You have no idea how much trouble I’ll be in if someone finds out what I did.”

“That man was important I guess?” Aziraphale waved at the barkeep to bring them a second bottle and two cups. He had no intent of drinking like a barbarian no matter the circumstances.

“He was the whole reason for my being here. I did the job, a quick nudge nothing more. Then I should have left, everything was taken care of. I could have just gone to sleep. I could be dreaming right now, angel. Nice dreams of the Garden. Or that lovely little bar in Galilee - you ever been there? Iosophat had that really good red he served only to people he liked…”

“He did lovely things with gefilte fish,” Aziraphale remembered with a dreamy smile.

And that, Crowley decided was the reason why he had acted like an idiot. The angel was the only one who also remembered, who understood. “Yeah,” he agreed, slowly calming down. “But instead of going to my inn, I had to follow him.”

“And when you saw him attacking me, you valiantly threw your boot.” Aziraphale began to see the problem.

“I had to improvise. Boots the only things I actually bought. The rest I just miracled up from raw firmament. It’s easier than trying to explain to a seamstress what look I’m going for exactly - not to mention cheaper. With the boots I hopefully didn’t leave occult footprints all over the guy.”

“Except for the ones that should be there.”

“Exactly. I did my job and it’s hardly my fault when that stupid human runs into perfectly mundane trouble afterwards right when he’s about to knife an angel.”

Aziraphale took a careful sip from his cup. The wine wasn’t excellent but it wasn’t undrinkable either. Just a bit strong for his taste. “It would have been quite inconvenient to explain losing a body.”

“Not to mention painful. He was going for the gut.” Interesting little flinch there. The angel didn’t exactly want to think about that, obviously.

“Like you said it’s hardly your fault and you couldn’t be expected to babysit the human, right?”

“Right.” Crowley really hoped the subject would never, ever come up.

“Especially,” Aziraphale began in a thoughtful tone. “Since you were busy thwarting my heavenly duties.”

“I did what now?” Maybe he’d already drunk too much but the angel wasn’t making much sense.

“You thwarted me on my way to a scheduled visitation. I’m sure stopping me directly should earn you some credit.”

Crowley blinked. “You’d do that for me?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I already finished two out of three tasks and I certainly wouldn’t have been able to do the third anyway if you hadn’t stepped in. I can hardly burden your conscience with being directly responsible for a heavenly miracle now, could I? So how about I pay for dinner and we’ll call it even?”

After he got over the initial shock of Aziraphale’s proposal, Crowley couldn’t help but grin. “As long as the drinks are included.”

A lot later when Aziraphale was on his way to the library that should open soon, knowing that Crowley was on his way to enjoy some hopefully pleasant dreams, he found that he smiled to himself. Crowley - the fallen angel, Hell’s representative on earth - when faced with watching his foe undergo a painful and humiliating experience had instinctively acted to save him instead.

*


	6. History Doesn't Repeat Itself For A Change

The moors were doing splendid things in Spain. There were universities and libraries all to honour the Almighty. Aziraphale was quite fond of them although like every conqueror they caused their share of bloodshed he had seen far worse over the course of the centuries. And the libraries were splendid, Cordoba attracted the brightest minds - and did he mention the libraries yet?

He wasn’t too surprised to run into Crowley in a tavern close to the university. Heaven and Hell often took interest in the same few square miles of earth at the same time.

“Hello, Crowley,” he greeted the demon friendly enough, already waving at the barkeep to bring them some wine to share.

Seeing Aziraphale on the other hand came as quite a shock to Crowley. He had really hoped not to see Heaven interfere here. Something had to have shown in his face because Aziraphale’s friendly smile faltered immediately.

“I uhm I could leave if you want me to?” He offered because that’s just the kind of person the angel was.

Crowley waved the offer off. “It’s not you. Well it is you but not you as a person.”

“So me as Heaven’s representative?”

“Yeah.” He took the cup of wine Aziraphale ordered and downed it at once.

“So you are up to something big I assume, something where you can’t afford Heaven’s meddling.” Despite the frosty start he really tried for friendly conversation.

“Me? I’m actually just here sightseeing. Now I’m glad that I came here before whatever your lot are planning happens.”

“My lot? What are you talking about?” He was thoroughly confused.

“A place of extraordinary learning, a centre for science renowned throughout the known world? And suddenly you pop up? Are you telling me that’s pure coincidence or does Babylon ring any bells?” The demon’s tone was acidic, the memories of that debacle still too fresh in his mind after all these centuries.

“Oh.” Looking at that guileless face, the eyes and the mouth performing three perfect circles, Crowley was ready to believe that the angel might actually not be here to topple another city for perceived sins. “Oh - of course you would think that. I’m sorry I should have thought of that. I’m not here to… I mean I’m…”

“You’re babbling, angel.” Which actually was quite amusing in its own way. “Why are you here?”

“A minor miracle.” Aziraphale was terribly worried now though. “I wasn’t informed of any long term plans for this place but… what if you’re right? What if there’s something along the lines of languages as a snowball effect of that minor miracle? Although to be fair languages turned out quite nicely in the long run to be fair. I mean it’s not as if it was Sodom all over again. Still I should know beforehand of something this major…”

Crowley took another sip of wine from his refilled cup. “Babbling again.”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale drank from his own cup just to stop talking really.

“I’m sure they would inform you if major consequences were ahead. I mean your lot aren’t my lot, right?”

“Right.” Aziraphale smiled but quietly decided to maybe slip up just a tiny bit on that miracle - not outright refusing mind you just not performing it to the best of his abilities.

“Besides even it was a shame what happened to Babylon that thing had its good sides.”

“Languages,” Aziraphale declared with a smile. So many beautiful poetry that would have never been possible without that diversification.

“I was more thinking about introducing you to the good stuff.” He raised his cup in a silent salute.

“Oh - right,” The angel raised his cup in answer. “To the process of fermentation.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Aziraphale giggled a bit more than his comment was technically worth. But that was still nice. This had to be the first time he had seen the angel giggle and he was the reason behind it. Crowley grinned. This little vacation turned out better than he had hoped for.


	7. Taking Care 1192-style

They kind of slipped into it really, whenever they ran into each other they first checked in on their respective tasks and if they so happened to cancel each other out they simply went to the next pub to try out the local beverages. There was no use in extending the powers of both Heaven and Hell just to achieve nothing really.

And Crowley was such good company that Aziraphale couldn’t resist.

And Aziraphale was so  _ nice  _ how could Crowley pass the opportunity for a friendly chat from time to time.

They drifted closer to each other and began circling around the same homebase. They were still travelling but maybe it wasn’t that surprising that they were drawn time and again to that little damp island right off of the coast of France. Their little arrangement started there and they both knew it. There were many wonderful places in the world but the memories they made in England were mostly good, a long way off from all that terrible stuff that happened between Eden and the Nazarethian.

They had both recently returned from errands that had them travelling different parts of the world when they met in a tavern in Western London. Crowley was shocked to see how haggard Aziraphale looked. His own little errand had him pulling some strings somewhere way south of the Nile, an area of the world that might be forgotten by the local humans for now but certainly not by Hell. Travelling had taken far too long and he’d been gone for almost two years. He was looking forward to getting accustomed to London again, the city being the closest thing to a constant in his life right after Aziraphale.

The angel looked as if his journey had been worse though.

He tried not to make much of a fuss about it. “Angel - long time no see. Where have you been?”

“Jerusalem,” was the quiet answer.

“Shit.” He had heard things. The crusades, as far as he could tell, ranked among humanity’s bottom ten ideas and all that happened in the name of religion. War was a terrible thing. But for a faithful little Principality, hearing the Almighty’s name dragged into all that slaughter as a justification had to be as close to Hell as earth ever got. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“As you wish. Lets share dinner, I believe it’s my turn.” And he would make sure to feed the angel at least half of what this little inn had to offer. He looked as if he could use it in more than one sense.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked with a slight frown. “Didn’t you pay for that lunch in Bavaria last decade?”

“You need to learn to shut your mouth while you’re ahead, Angel. Now stop arguing. Today’s my treat.” And he waved the waiter over to order pretty much two of everything. When Aziraphale looked at him in surprise, he claimed “I’m hungry, that does happen once or twice a century, you know.”

“Of course.”

And when later Crowley only nibbled at his dishes and shoved most of it subtly on to Aziraphale’s plate both acted as if that was perfectly normal. About two meals worth of good food as well as several pastries later, Aziraphale looked a lot more like himself. The wine and the company helped as well but Crowley stayed very aware of the fact that the angel would need time to fully recuperate.

So maybe they did meet in a higher frequency than usual over the next couple of weeks. And it was perfectly egoistical of Crowley taking such an interest. Aziraphale was a known quantity and he had a vested interest in not having his angel replaced by some other prick.

“You’re late.”

“Hello Crowley.”

“I hope you remember that means you’ll pick up the tab.”

“Sure.” Aziraphale was clearly distracted by something.

“Angel, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Listen, I’ll kick myself later for not making the obvious joke here but in all earnestness, something’s bothering you, so spill.”

“It’s nothing important really, just a minor miracle and a blessing I need to take care of, up in Nottinghamshire. I’ll be gone for a bit that’s all.”

Something for which the angel wasn’t ready yet as far as Crowley could tell. “Nottinghamshire?” He pursed his lips. “What a coincidence, there’s a local sheriff that needs a bit of tempting that I haven’t come around to take care of yet.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale face lit up a bit. “We could travel together.”

There was little chance of that, Crowley knew what the sheriff was up to even without his added inspiration and he really didn’t want the angel to witness any of that right now. “Travelling is hell this time of year, so why not, I don’t know, gamble on it?”

“Gamble? Gambling is a sin.” The angel protested.

“So is breathing if you do it excessively, depending on who you ask. Now look I’ll toss you a coin, loser goes up there and takes care of both. That way at least one of us can have a nice and cosy time.”

“Crowley I really couldn’t…”

He sighed, so no cheating to at least save enough face to keep his demonic dignity then. “OK no coin toss, this time is my treat. I’ll take care of both, you promise not to drink that bottle of Red until I’m back. And  _ next  _ time we’ll toss.”

Aziraphale started to protest but more out of a sense of duty than anything. And he still was oh so tired after the crusade. As long as things got done there was no real harm was there? He closed his mouth again without saying anything. His eyes conveying the gratefulness that Crowley wouldn’t want to hear spoken out loud.

The sheriff was quite the bastard although Crowley appreciated that at least he wasn’t an idiot. Still it felt good, really good to inspire that young man to take up the mantle of a rebellion leader and the minor miracle to let him escape the dungeon in the first place wasn’t too bad. He couldn’t have foreseen the redheaded noble woman actually helping the guy but that was hormones for you, could get you to do all kinds of silly stuff.

When he returned to London he made sure Aziraphale got the tale in all its swashbuckling glory - minus some details regarding the sheriff himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Robin Hood will ALWAYS be Michael Praed. He had the most terrifying Sheriff ever too (no disrespect to Alan Rickmann).


	8. A Lot Of Misconceptions

Aziraphale quite liked France - especially the food. He could do without the language mostly but that was his laziness really. He would always know Enochian by heart and he thought he remembered old Hebrew and Latin quite well but he didn’t get a lot of practise in speaking anything besides English nowadays. Reading was something else of course but he hated struggling for the right words or botching the pronunciation. He always felt like a bumbling fool when that happened.

But the literature - the people of France had recently begun to translate old legends about the lives of saints from Latin into their own tongue and that was an endeavour Aziraphale fully endorsed. And when at the beginning of the 13th century the whole genre of heroic songs practically exploded he simply had to hang around a bit, polish his French and maybe help one or two struggling poets with a few historical anecdotes to get the ideas flowing.

First he stayed a while at an abbey. It was a peaceful place, consecrated ground and learned man who had all the patience in the world to wait until he adapted to the local language. Until then there was always Latin after all.

There are wonderful scripts at the abbey and he read them all before finally moving on. By that point he was fluent enough to accompany a travelling bard - a charming fellow all dark and handsome in a way that Aziraphale found utterly lovely. Girart not only had a good voice and quick fingers, he also possessed a quick wit and an easy smile.

Aziraphale noted how Girart flirted with men and women among his audience and he thought little of it.

What he didn’t notice was the fact that Girart also flirted with him. Not that he would have cared very much either way but he stayed pretty oblivious. Until one day in June Girart obviously ran out of patience and started to act unambiguously.

“Azira, your eyes are beautiful. They remind me of the sky over Lac d’Annecy in June.”

“Really?” Aziraphale looked up from the scroll he was currently studying. “What a lovely thing to say, you  _ are  _ a poet, Girart. Thank you.” And then because he thought it was appropriate he added. “Your eyes are nice too, very human.”

The bard had travelled with him for long enough to understand that to Monsieur Fell this was indeed a great compliment. So he decided to grow more direct. “In all the months we travelled, I have never seen you seek solitude with a maid.”

“Mmh? Oh I’m not interested in the ladies that way, my dear bard. I surely thought you must have noticed. Wise in the ways of the world as you are.”

And with Aziraphale there was no hint of sarcasm or mockery.

His human companion smiled. “I had deducted as much, my lovely Azira. I just didn’t want to assume.”

“Probably a wise precaution as a general rule. But in this case you aren’t mistaken.” The angel assured. (Completely missing the point that Girart was in fact terribly mistaken.)

The bard leaned in closer, distracting Aziraphale from his reading material. “May I ask a boon of you, lovely Monsieur Fell?”

The angel frowned. His friend sounded very serious. And he did consider Girart a friend after five months on the road together. How was he to withhold comfort or help where it might easily be given? “Of course you may ask. And if the boon is within my power to grant, you shall have it.”

The bard licked his lips. “Then I request the boon that I may be allowed to kiss you, sweet Azira.” And with that he closed the last bit of distance between them and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s.

It wasn’t that the experience wasn’t perfectly pleasant. But it came quite out of the blue as far as the angel was concerned. And after everything he’d seen and read over the centuries this would make everything dreadfully  _ complicated _ . He suddenly wished that Crowley was here. He hadn’t thought all that much about the demon lately, completely distracted by his literal and culinary adventures. But right now he could really, really use someone to help him navigate this particular minefield. Crowley would tease and maybe even mock but he would  _ help  _ him. Crowley was far better at dealing with humans and getting what he wanted. Oh Heavens what was he to do about this?

He could never really decide whether he was grateful or not for the disruption that ended his predicament. On the plus side it freed him of the need to come up with an appropriate reaction. On the other side he really didn’t know how to deal with a group of angry French peasants that accused them both of scandalous and sinful behaviour either. One of the men shoved Girart.

And then things got ugly.

Aziraphale never was quite sure what exactly happened next but there was definitely pain involved and shouting and… he couldn’t really DO anything. These people radiated so much righteousness - the disconnect between their feelings and their actions nearly knocked him out. He tried to shield Girart from the kicks and punches when a deep and authoritative voice rang out.

“Stop it! Stop it this instant you maggots.”

Aziraphale sent a quick grateful prayer towards the Almighty for sending Crowley along just now. He hoped the demon didn’t notice because he might just decide to leave him in this predicament if he did.

The demon wore clothes that clearly marked him as an aristocrat, even more so than the voice and arrogant attitude he displayed.

And the peasants all reacted to it. They had been trained to do so for generations after all. 

“My Lord,” one began. 

But Crowley cut him off. “Don’t think I don’t see what you are trying to do, bearded guy in the back. Drop that stone right now.”

“You are not our marquis. This is his land.”

One of the others agreed. “He wouldn’t tolerate these sinners.”

“Yeah,” a third chimed in.

The mood was turning against Crowley. He shrugged. “Ah well - you caught me there. I’m not the boss of you. But those two belong to me, so you better get going.” And with those last words he quickly slipped into a truly dreadful form conjured from the deepest pits of the human subconscious, screaming at them in the forgotten tongue of Babylon to ‘Fuck off!’ from at least three different mouths.

They all fled screaming.

Next to Aziraphale Girart fainted as Crowley quickly turned back into his usual rather charming form. “Maybe next time I’ll add maggots.”

Aziraphale limped over to the unconscious bard and started healing the poor lad, whispering into his ears, to forget all about the horrors of today and just wake up refreshed and happy after some pleasant dreams.

“You okay over there, angel?” Crowley tried to sound casual but couldn’t quite keep the note of concern out of his voice.

“They called me a sinner.”

Crowley shook his head with a dismissive snort. “Just shows you what kind of morons they were. I’m a Lord and you’re a sinner. Shouldn’t you heal up your own body?”

“Yes, quite.” He agreed with a wince. “I’ve only had this coat for ninety two years and now its ruined.”

“If that’s your biggest worry…”

“No. No that would be him. What to do about poor Girart…”

The demon snapped his fingers and the bard was gone.

“Crowley!”

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist, angel. He’ll wake up under some nice apple tree a long distance from here, with all his stuff, all his limbs still attached and some pleasant memories thanks to you. He’ll be fine.”

The angel’s face turned from scandalised concern to a warm smile. “Thank you, Crowley.”

All that honest gratefulness oozing from the angel made him roll his eyes. “Just don’t tell anybody. I don’t want to get into trouble over this.” He looked in the general direction the peasants had fled. “We should probably leave. I don’t want to face a priest who might bring along holy water.”

“You’re right of course.” Aziraphale cleaned his clothes with a few swats of his hand as they started walking “What are you doing here by the way? I thought you were still in London.”

“Oh I had some business to take care of over that way.” He gestured vaguely southwards which caused the angel to think ‘Rome’ immediately. The direction was right and Aziraphale could never know that he was actually referring to the place they had just left behind. “I’m just on my way back actually.”

“Splendid would you mind if I join you? I think I’ve got enough of this place for a while.”

Crowley grinned. “Not at all angel, not at all.”

*

“Honestly though, what were you thinking kissing a man in front of those French idiots?”

“Do you think the English would have reacted better?”

“Not really. Still that was stupid.”

“I’ll have you know that I wasn’t kissing a man. I  _ was  _ kissed by one.”

“If you say so, angel.”

“Does that… bother you?”

“Only the stupidity of it. Now keep walking I want to get home this century.”

***


	9. The 14th Century

Crowley hated the 14th century. So far nothing had gone right as far as he was concerned. The weather had grown colder, there were storms and floods and it never really ever grew warm and cozy. He was stuck somewhere in the Rhine valley in 1342 and he was regularly cursing at the Heavens as the rain came pouring down and the floods rose. As far as he was concerned this was a clear breach of the whole rainbow thing. Just because She slowed things down a bit and it didn’t all happen in 40 days didn’t mean it wasn’t basically the same.

Not that anyone cared what he had to say on the matter.

Not that the Creator ever felt bound by any rules even those She made up Herself.

And it wasn’t just bad weather. The weather made him uncomfortable, sure. But it killed the humans. They didn’t all drown or freeze of course. But quite a few did. And the crops failed. And then they starved. And those that didn’t starve fell ill and died.

Hunger and Pestilence rode through Europe and Death was everywhere. War amused herself as well but right now she was the least of humanity’s problems.

Crowley knew for a fact that this wasn’t the Apocalypse. Head Office would have given him some warning if that were the case. But it sure felt like it.

And in this time of crises people turned ugly. They quickly forgot all about philosophy and art and curiosity and anything fun as soon as they had to fight for survival.

Crowley was on his way southwards in the hopes that the mediterranean area would have been spared the worst of the weather and therefore its consequences. Rome, Athens - there had to be someplace where he could forget all about this travesty and maybe find a decent wine.

But the way was long and travel far from easy. With all the places he had to avoid because of the pest he had to take longer and longer detours so spring was turning into this century’s terrible excuse for a summer and he was still north of the alps.

Despite his best efforts he was stuck in a small rural town in Bavaria when the first cases of Black Death occurred. Not that he was in any danger of catching the damn illness but people around him were dying and it was loud and annoying and the smell made him nauseous. So under the cover of night Crowley fled the doomed little community. He miracled himself some new clothes from raw firmament after cleansing himself. Because he’d be blessed if he carried the disease elsewhere.

Two towns down the road he started heavily on the local beer, trying to forget the smell and the wails of the dying, cleansing his mind as thoroughly as his body. He drank the whole evening and he drank the whole night. His coin was good so no one had any intention of cutting him off when he continued to drink heavily into the morning.

He could never quite reconstruct how it happened but somewhere along the line he must have lost his glasses.

The first thing he noticed was a terrified gasp by the barmaid. He tried figuring out what made her quiver away from him like that, when she shrieked “DEMON!” pointing her finger at him. His brain really wasn’t working quite right and he tried very hard to sober up so he might find a way to deal with it but it was hard concentrating enough and then something hit the back of his head painfully and he lost consciousness.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but he came to because of pain. His head was throbbing and not only because of the alcohol, he was lying on the ground, gravel painfully boring into him and things were hitting him. Stones aimed for his head, a kick against the shin - half the town seemed to have joined in on the fun. Or maybe all of the town, a tiny voice at the back of his head suggested, they would have had many dead of their own after all. When a heavy boot landed in his nether region, he doubled up to protect himself, arms covering his head. Now that would be one to explain downstairs ‘sorry I lost the body, I couldn’t just miracle those idiot humans away because I was too drunk to function like a proper demon’.

If he could just pull himself together enough to work some magic he would be fine - but the alcohol and the pain made it impossible and Crowley was afraid he would actually die here and now - or at least very painfully discorporate.

“STOP! Stop it this instance!”

His head swam but surely this couldn’t be, could it? The voice sounded familiar but he had never heard such a force of command behind it.

And the mob actually stopped, held back by the sheer power of will that thrice blessed angel displayed.

“He’s a demon, m’lord - a pest bringer. We have to kill him and burn his remains so the land won’t be met with even more deaths.” Still none of them moved on him.

Crowley kept his face buried, still hiding from the pain that was sure to start again any moment now. He didn’t dare to look what the angel was doing.

“Poppycock.”

Poppycock? Surely that had to break the weird spell Aziraphale held over these peasants. There was no way they would listen to him if he was talking like that.

“Whatever gave you the idea that he is a demon?”

Besides the fact that I clearly am? Really angel what are you going for?

“His eyes, m’lord. His eyes are yellow and slit - it’s not natural.”

There was a slight pause as Aziraphale adjusted to that information. “Ah - I see. Well his eyes are clearly not human but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a demon though.”

The mob shuffled their feet and began mumbling. “What else could he be?” One finally spoke up.

Instead of the angel’s voice he’d expected, the next thing he heard was the ruffling of feathers and the gasp from a multitude of throats it resulted in. When Aziraphale spoke his voice was all pleasant gentleness with only a hint of steel at its core. “Gabriel’s eyes for example have a very lovely shade of violet you see.”

“M’lord…” One of them started but his voice broke off, clearly overwhelmed.

“I think it’s better you all leave now - just remember, no matter how forlorn you might feel, the Lord’s servants are still among you.”

None of the humans answered but they all ran as fast as their legs would carry them.

Crowley finally dared to look and saw the last hint of pure and perfect wings as the angel put them away again.

“What... How…” He could only stammer.

Aziraphale knelt down next to him, critically eyeing his injuries. “How are you, my dear?”

Crowley’s heart nearly skipped a beat at the surrealness of the whole situation. “Hurt,” he croaked out. “In pain.”

“I can imagine,” the angel ‘tsked’. His fingers gently touching a place where the skin was split. Crowley felt the healing energy flow into his body and it burned and soothed his aches at the same time. His wounds were healing. Heavenly light wasn’t meant for demons but apparently Aziraphale hadn’t gotten that memo. “You better sober up yourself. I really don’t like messing around so close to someone else’s consciousness.”

The instinctive nod caused a splitting pain in his skull. Crowley winced. But with the angel taking care of the physical ills he managed to concentrate enough to miracle himself sober.

“Thank you.”

Aziraphale blinked at the earnestness in Crowley’s voice. Then he smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“How did you… I mean what are you doing here?” He peeled himself from the ground and started to fix his clothes.

“Getting you out of trouble, my dear.”

“But why are you even here, I mean.” His hand gestured around to indicate this particular part of Europe.

“I’ve felt your distress for a while now. I didn’t mean to pry you see but well I’ve been wondering how you were doing, so I kind of listened in on your mood so to speak, just to make sure. So I was quite open to your frequency when I was hit with that bout of - well - panic. So I popped over.” He winced slightly. “Teleporting myself like that is extremely frivolous, I hope the paperwork won’t be too bad but well that little visitation to convert a whole village back to true believers will hopefully provide an adequate justification.”

The thing that got Crowley was that the angel simply said it. No lies to keep up the pretense like he himself was wont to do. Just a simple ‘I checked in on you’.

“You pulled out your wings.” What he didn’t say was ‘for me’.

“It seemed the best way to diffuse the situation. I’m afraid I’m not all that good at improvising.”

“You lied to them.” He still couldn’t believe it.

“Technically I didn’t.” He replied with as much dignity as he could muster.

“You told them it was ‘poppycock’ that I was a demon.”

“I told them it was ‘poppycock’ to think you are a pest bringer. Was that a lie?” The angel raised his goddamn eyebrow at him.

Crowley stared in disbelief. “Well no, but…”

“No buts. You are no pest bringer and even if you were, no burning of any remains would help to ward these lands against evil - so ‘poppycock’ like I said.”

“You made them think I was an angel.”

“I simply pointed out that unusual eyes were no proof of your demonic nature. The conclusion was theirs.”

Crowley didn’t ask how it was possible that Aziraphale hadn’t fallen yet with a mind like that. It would have been a cruel way to repay his saviour. “You compared me to Gabriel.” He grumbled instead.

A small, slightly worried smile played on the angel’s lips. “I’m sure to remember not to do that in the future. Now would you be so kind as to point out the right direction toward London? I’m afraid I have no idea where exactly I am and I really should take the slow way back.”

“Just follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the floods and the coldness and the pestilence years, Europe lost about a third of its population. I think I know why Crowley doesn't like the 14th century
> 
> Also it was about time Aziraphale rescued Crowley for a change.


End file.
